"See the pudding, hear the fun;
The laugh and joke and glee;
The ship may in the Doldrums lie,
But--'tis Christmas Day at sea."
Anon.
Scene: A ship in the Doldrums. It is the saucy _Brilliant_. She has
been to Calcutta, and is now on her way back to the Cape. And it is
Christmas Day, and she ship is in the Doldrums. Longitude 90 degrees
East; latitude nothing at all, for she is as nearly "on top o' the
'quator," as Jack calls it, as possible. She encountered a tornado
farther north, which gives the reason for her being now somewhat out of
her course. But she stood it well, and to see her now, with her long
black lines, her tapering spars, and snow-white decks, you could not
believe that but a fortnight before she had hardly a morsel of bulwark
left, that, in fact, the bulwarks were more like sheep hurdles than
anything shipshape.
The Doldrums! There isn't a breath of wind; the surface of the great
rolling waves is as smooth as polished steel, and much about the same
colour. The sun is beating straight down from a blue but cruelly hot
sky. The pitch is soft in the deck seams; the men in the stoke-hole are
to be pitied.
Yes, steam is up, there is a frothy wake behind her, and her bows cut
through the water like a knife.
But the awning is spread all over the quarter-deck, and her tables are
laid, for the captain is a right good fellow, and the men are all coming
to dine with him.
They are dropping aft even now, one by one or twos and twos, somewhat
shy-looking, but with beaming faces, and dressed in their best,
bare-footed, in blue serge pants and clean spruce white jerseys.
"How different Christmas in the Doldrums is," said Captain Smith, "from
what we are used to have it at home in old England. Sit in, men; no
ceremony to-day. Mr McAlpine, you'll carve the beef. Mr McCrane, I'm
sure you will show the men a good example at your end of the table.
Now, doctor, will you ask a blessing?"
Fiddles were placed across the table--long sticks shipped together by
pieces of line--and the cloth was laid over that, so that, in spite of
the incessant and most uneasy motion of the vessel, the dishes
themselves were kept fairly steady.
As soon as eating was well commenced, tongues were loosed, and the
conversation flowed freely enough, and why should it not? The captain
was jolly, frank, and open, and his officers gentlemen in manners, so
the men were not afraid to speak before them.
Yarn followed yarn, and tale tale, but all short and crisp; the captain
joked himself, and encouraged his men to joke, so that, despite the
heat, it really was a very pleasant Christmas dinner-party.
But the coming of the pudding was the great event. For, you see, it was
an immensely large one, and as the ship rolled so much, the danger of
its being sent flying into the scuppers before reaching the table, and
being all smashed, was very great indeed.
Even the night before, the captain had commissioned the doctor to
superintend its safe delivery. And that worthy had positively got Chips
to make a kind of ambulance stretcher, partly canvas and partly bamboo
cane, to put the trencher on, and this was borne by two men.
"Now," said the captain, when the roast beef had been taken away, "are
you all ready, doctor?"
"Yes," said the man of physic, wiping the sweat off his brow. "I'm all
ready if the pudding is."
"The cook's waiting, sir," said the steward, who was trying to steady
himself by keeping firm hold of the mizen rigging.
"Well, here's for off," said the surgeon, getting up.
"Do your duty like a man," cried the captain, laughing, as the doctor
went staggering forward. "And keep to your legs, doctor, keep to your
legs."
There was silence now around the table for many long anxious minutes.
It was a solemn time. There was nothing to be heard but the throb-throb
of the engines--the beating of the ship's great heart.
Would the doctor and his party succeed in landing the pudding aft? That
was the great question for the time being, which every one was asking
himself. Would the pudding arrive in safety?
Every eye was turned forward.
Behold, they come. Their heads are already above the fore hatch.
Slowly they emerge, and stand for a moment swaying hither and thither.
The doctor heads the procession. The cook himself brings up the rear.
Now the doctor's voice is heard.
"Are you all ready again, men?"
"All ready, sir."
"Steady, then; steady as you go. March!"
How steady they move! How quietly! A soldier's funeral is nothing to
it! How they rock, and how they sway, taking advantage of every seeming
break in the ship's motion, cautioning each other with uplifted fingers,
the doctor with his left hand over the prize, the cook with his right,
ready to clutch it if it moves, ready to fall with it if it falls.
Nearer and nearer they come. Nearer and nearer the great IT--the
pudding--comes. And now it is almost alongside the captain and the
expectant crew, when--oh moment of grief and horror!--the ship gives a
fearful lurch, and the whole procession, pudding and all, is sent flying
across the deck and brought up all of a heap close under the port
bulwarks.
A groan of disappointment rises up from the table. The pudding is
smashed to pieces, of course. No, for see--bravo! the doctor--he has
clutched the trencher at a critical moment. Phoenix-like, he uprises
with it from that chaos of arms and legs. He watches the chance. He
gives one quick glance around him, at sea, at sky, at moving ship. He
stakes his honour, his fame, and the very existence of that glorious
globe of fragrant dough on one bold manoeuvre. Bearing it high over his
head, he glides, he slides, he skates, one might say, towards the table;
and in shorter time by far than it takes me to describe the gallant
deed, he plumps the "great champion of the pudding race" down in front
of the captain's pile of plates.
"Hurrah! hurrah!"
Why, the very sharks deep down in the ocean's blackest depths heard the
shout; they took it for a battle-cry, and came surface-wards in all
haste, making sure of a glorious feast. And an answering shout came up
from the engine-room, where the stokers were at work. For they knew
that the pudding was safely landed, and that their share would shortly
come.
And the captain must needs shake the doctor by the hand, while tears of
joy and admiration stood in his eyes.
"Doctor," he said, "you're a brick, sir, a brick and a half, sir. I
never saw a bolder move. I never saw anything so pluckily done in my
life before. I'm proud of my surgeon, proud of you."
Then he sat down.
The doctor made some reply, which was hardly heard amid the exclamations
of accord in the captain's speech, which uprose from all round the
table.
A rough old sea-dog of a doctor he was, too, a thorough sailor. Any one
could have seen that at a glance. Rough he was, yet kindly-hearted, and
there was not a man on board, from the captain to the Kroo boy who
helped the cook, who wouldn't have risked his life for their surgeon.
I leave you to guess whether or not justice was done to that Christmas
plum-pudding. Indeed, I only wish you could have seen the happy smiling
faces that now surrounded the table, and really--though it was not
polite of them--several of the crew had no less than _three_ helps, for
"Cut and come again" was the captain's motto on this Christmas Day in
the Doldrums.
Well, of course songs and yarns followed dinner. The captain told a
story, Archie told a story, Kenneth sang and played, the old bo'sun
called Pipes had something queer to say, and so had the carpenter called
Chips.
"Now then, doctor," cried the captain. "It's your turn. Tell us
something good."
The doctor cleared his throat.
"I'll do my best, sir," said the doctor with a modest smile.